SIX AND A HALF DISABLED
Why is it I always wind up feeling
sorry for everyone? Nothing escapes
scrutiny. This group of veterans, outside
their clinic, man what a mess was that. I
felt so bad. Poor guys; and the let them
out to smoke. Mercy killing?
There's a place a town or two off; I pass
it often - they make beautiful conversion
vans, for handicapped and wheelchair
people. What another shame is that.
All sorts of bad things.
Out front, there's a dead clock-tower no
one's ever fixed. Yet I remember when
it was put in - big to-do, newspaper
story, people and photos. Now, that's all
over too. This life's a sad, sad place,
running at a sad, slow pace.